All That Matters
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Mandrea AU. Oneshot. Christmas is the season for remembering what really matters. Andrea/Merle. Rated for Dixon mouth.


**AN: This was from a tumblr prompt that wanted Mandrea Christmas fluffies.**

 **I own nothing from the walking dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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She was asleep. But just to make sure, he needed to do a couple of test runs. He tugged at the blankets. Andrea was a blanket hog and, if she wasn't entirely asleep, she'd yank back twice as hard as he pulled, especially if it was cold in the room. She didn't respond to the blanket tugging and he tucked them back around her so the chill wouldn't wake her. Merle shook the mattress, moving his body, but Andrea just bounced along with the movement, unfazed. For his final test, he leaned fully over her, pretending he was going for the glass of water on her nightstand if she woke to question his actions, and she didn't even protest the movement or the bit of his weight pressing down on her.

She was asleep. She was, except for her breathing, as close to dead as she could possibly get. Still, he had to be careful. He had to be quiet. Otherwise he wouldn't ever pull things off.

It mattered, to him, that he pulled this whole thing off.

Merle sat up and moved to the edge of the bed with more care than he'd used while testing to see if Andrea would respond to movement of the mattress. He let his feet touch the floor and then he gently lifted himself up. Looking back at her, still sleeping in the light of the bedside lamp that he'd turned on as his first test of her sleeping level, Merle couldn't help but smile.

They'd been married, now, for two and a half years. They'd dated for only a year before that, but Merle hadn't wanted to wait any longer and, since she'd agreed to move in with him after only six months, he couldn't figure that signing that paper would be that big of a deal.

Or at least that's how he'd presented it to her. He'd tried to be as nonchalant about the whole thing as he possibly could. Marry me, don't marry me, it doesn't really matter. But as long as it doesn't matter, why don't you do it?

People had told them they'd never make it to a year of marriage, but they did. Then they'd said they'd never make it to two years, but they did that too. Merle imagined that they'd keep going that way, just one year at a time, entirely ignoring what other people said.

Because other people saw him differently than Andrea saw him. Other people didn't know what Andrea knew about him. Other people didn't make him feel, even about himself, the way that Andrea did. That's why the other people didn't matter to Merle at all.

And other people didn't realize that when Merle had asked Andrea to marry him, it wasn't to solve her lust for a ring. It hadn't been some move to keep a woman from nagging him to death about commitment and wanting something more. It wasn't anything that people assumed had driven him to pop the question when he honestly hadn't even been able to afford a ring that was any better than a twenty dollar obvious fake from a pawn shop.

What had driven Merle to ask Andrea to marry him was his desire to have something of his own—someone of his own—and to feel like he could count on her to _stay_. The paper, honestly, was more of a security blanket for Merle than it ever had been for Andrea. She could have cared less about it. She didn't care about the ring either. But she took the fall and let everyone say what they would about her and think what they would about her dragging Merle to the altar.

After all, she wasn't going to give up his secret and it didn't matter what they said.

Still, two and a half years was enough to bring them a lot of things. With Andrea driving him on—cutting down on how much he spent out and convincing him that staying home could be just as nice as going somewhere—Merle had saved up enough money to afford a little starter house for the two of them. It wasn't anything nice, and he hoped for something better someday, but it was enough for now. He'd scraped together, behind her back, enough extra cash to afford a diamond ring—small but real, and she said it was the most beautiful ring that she ever wore on her finger—for her birthday. He'd bought, too, two gold bands that they could use to replace the cheap ones they'd been married with and that had turned their fingers green. And even though he couldn't wear his because it was a work hazard, he liked the way that hers looked on her finger and, sometimes, he took his out of the little box in his nightstand and looked at it—turning it over in his hand—just as a reminder.

In two and a half years, they'd had more than a few fights. Merle had spent at least two months' worth of time, spread out over the course of it all, on the couch. But that also meant that they'd had just as many make ups and he was willing to sacrifice some comfort to his back for the nights that followed his return to the bed.

Still, with all that the time had brought them, the two and a half years had left them still feeling like they had a long way to go. They had places to go together. They had things they wanted to do in life together. They had things they wanted to achieve. And even if their goals weren't lofty for other people, they were still their goals.

They wanted a little swimming pool in their yard. Above ground was fine. It didn't need to be the nicest. Just somewhere comfortable to cool off in the summer where Merle could drink a beer and Andrea could have an excuse to show him the new swimsuit she got.

They wanted a better little house. One with a fireplace, maybe. One they could hang stockings on instead of tacking them to the wall like they did now. They were hoping for a house with an "island" according to Andrea, but Merle wasn't sure what the hell she wanted and he was pretty positive he'd never be able to afford an island—but he still told her that she could have it if she wanted it. She'd just have to wait for someday.

And they wanted a little snot-nosed Dixon all their own. They wanted a boy, or a girl would be fine too, that they could spoil with all they had and raise up to be the best damn kid that ever there was. But those didn't come on order and Merle couldn't just run out and pick one of those up. That was something they'd just have to wait to see when they'd get it.

But Merle was sure they'd get it. Somehow? They'd get it. Because Andrea really wanted it and she got what the hell she wanted—her island too—one way or another. Merle saw to that.

And he really wanted it too, but she pretended that it was all her. After all, she wasn't going to give away the secret that Merle wanted a kid every bit as much as she did, if not more.

Sure that Andrea was still asleep, and hoping to stack the favor in his odds, Merle switched off the lamp as quietly as he could after he gathered up his clothes. He took them with him and closed the bedroom door, twisting the knob so that it wouldn't click when it was closed. He dressed in the living room and pulled on his coat and the scarf that Andrea insisted he wear, even if he thought it looked ridiculous, and he slipped out of the house.

The ice cold of winter bit at his face. It felt cold enough to snow, but Merle was pretty sure that one thing they'd never see was a white Christmas in Georgia. The closest they ever got to it, after all, was a heavy frost in the morning that would make the grass crunch beneath their feet. Still, the frost glimmered in the light, and it looked white at a glance. It inspired, in the years past, a little Christmas loving and some cuddling—and that was really all that mattered.

Despite the hour, Merle knew that Hershel Greene would be awake. Like Santa Clause, the man was known for making dreams and wishes come true on Christmas. When Merle had passed by his house three days before to drop off the cash for the exchange that would be made, the man's house already looked like a winter wonderland. Tucked up under his shed were at least four bicycles, a handful of tricycles, and he was housing two ponies. They were all Christmas presents that needed to stay hidden, tucked away until the very last minute, to make man-made Christmas miracles happen in the most magical way possible.

When Merle pulled up at the house, he'd barely had time to park the truck when he saw Hershel coming for him. Hershel stopped long enough to speak to another gentleman—the man threw up a hand in greeting at Merle that Merle returned with some enthusiasm—who was there to get one of the bicycles. Then Hershel brought Merle's gift directly to him. Droopy face and wiggling ass—with the most ridiculous bow that Hershel's wife must have ever fashioned tied around his neck—Merle accepted the puppy through the window of the truck.

"Fine dog," Hershel said.

Merle hummed.

"Better be," he commented. "Hope it's what she'll like."

Hershel chuckled.

"She's going to love it," he assured Merle. "Pick of the litter. Perfect for Andrea."

Merle hummed and looked the dog over. He was taking Hershel's word on it because he swore he knew just what Andrea would like, but Merle wasn't so sure. The dog was a fine dog, of course. He'd be a good hunting dog if Merle had a mind to train him. But he just couldn't imagine that the animal was what Andrea might like. She was a woman, after all, and Merle figured they'd like the dogs what came with all the bows and more fur than face. Still—Hershel promised that he knew best and he promised that this dog—this drooling little pup that was already chewing on Merle's truck seat, was going to be just enough to light her face right on up.

"I hope you're right," Merle said.

Hershel winked at him and then laughed.

"I'm always right," he said. "But there are still no refunds. You want the box in the back?"

"Cord's back there," Merle said with a nod. While he entertained the dog, Hershel put the last piece of the Christmas puzzle into the back of the truck and secured it so that it would still be there when Merle got home. A thank you and "Merry Christmas" to their own small town Santa and Merle was on his way with the slobbering new addition to his family in tow.

A few minutes into the ride, the dog settled in next to Merle and rested its wrinkled face on Merle's leg, it's oversized lips spreading out across his leg and leaving his pants feeling soggy. Merle flipped on the heater when he felt the little thing shiver and patted his hand gently on top of the dog's head, stretching back it's skin a little as he trailed his palm down his body.

"You alright," Merle said. "Do just fine. But don't be kissin' my ass. When we get home? She get'cha outta that damn box? You better make like you ain't never met nobody so damn wonderful in your life. If she likes ya? That's what the hell matters. Ain't me you gotta worry about."

As if he understood him, the droopy dog yawned before he settled in to sleep the rest of the way back to the house.

In the dark, grass crunching under foot, Merle lowered the pup into the box in the back. He spent a moment pondering the logistics of his plan and finally put the top on the box, satisfied to see that Santa Greene had thought to cut the animal enough air holes to survive his temporary bout of captivity. Merle heaved the box up, stopped once in the middle of the yard to situate it, and then made his way up the porch steps.

He shouldn't have been surprised at all when the door opened just before he reached it to beckon him into the warmth of his home. Andrea could sleep through a tornado and maybe an air raid, but she almost couldn't make it through Merle being gone from the bed long enough to take a piss.

"It's too cold to be out there," Andrea said, no real scold in her voice. She closed the door behind Merle. He pretended that he couldn't even see her. He was trying to figure out how to present the box to her when his real plan had been to wake her and have her come and find it. "Merry Christmas to you too, asshole," Andrea teased in response to his silent treatment.

"Ain't Christmas yet," Merle said. "Go your ass on back to bed."

"It turned Christmas two hours ago," Andrea said. Merle was shocked. He hadn't realized the hour—he'd known it had been late, but still he hadn't paid attention to it that much. After all, Hershel had promised him that when they went to sleep—those important enough to get the most secret of gifts—it would never be too late for someone to come calling for pickup at his house.

Flustered, Merle finally rested the box on the couch. The puppy inside must have felt the shift because he moved around and very nearly toppled his box to the floor. A quick rush forward from Andrea was all that kept him from spilling off the couch.

"Merry Christmas," Merle said, before she took the lid off the box. "That weren't how you was supposed to get it, though. Was supposed to be nicer'n that."

Keeping her hand on the box to steady it, Andrea looked at Merle and smiled. She shook her head.

"It doesn't matter how you give me a gift, Merle," she said—and he knew that she meant it. "Can I open it?"

"Better," Merle said. "'Cause it's liable to make a damn big mess in that box."

Andrea lifted the lid on the box and a moment later the droopy dog came out in her arms—ass wagging and tongue flying. She hugged it to her, cooing and squeaking at it in sounds that only she and the dog could understand. But whatever she was saying to it did nothing except excite the dog even more. And Merle smiled to himself because the little bastard was smart—smart enough to have listened to him in the truck. Smart enough to know which side his bread was buttered on.

When the wonder of the moment had passed a little, and the dog was content to snuggle in Andrea's arms, Andrea offered Merle a one armed hug and a kiss that told him how much she appreciated the gift.

It was, for him, the best kind of gift that she could offer—whatever the hell else she had under the tree didn't really matter to Merle.

"You really like him?" Merle asked, waving at Andrea to sit on the couch after he moved the box out of her way.

"He's perfect," Andrea said. "Just what I wanted."

"Really?" Merle asked. "'Cause he said you was gonna like it—but I figured you'da wanted one of them fru-fru type dogs."

Andrea hummed.

"And you always wanted a hunting dog," she said. "A pet and a helper, right?"

Merle hummed back at her and sat down on the couch next to her.

"Ain't about me," Merle said. "Want you to have what you want."

"He seems pretty sweet," Andrea said. "And—he likes to cuddle. He likes hugs. That's what I wanted. He seems like just the right dog for our house—pick of the litter."

Merle chuckled.

"That's what the hell Hershel Greene said when I went to pick him up," he told her.

Andrea smiled at him.

"I know," she said. "That's what I told him to say—when I went last week to make sure you got the right one."

Merle made a face at her, but before he could say anything, she leaned and bumped her nose against his just before she pressed her lips to his.

"Merry Christmas," Merle said when she pulled away. "Even if you are a damn sneak that ruined your own surprise, I guess I love ya any damn way."

Andrea smiled at him.

"I love you too," she said. "And—that's all that matters."


End file.
